I Had Zero Control and Landed Upside Down

It hit me in early January, this absolute need to go skiing. Not a want that could be cured by a weekend trip to Boyne. Not a snowshoeing substitute, our local solution to winter sports. I needed fresh alpine air, deep powder, the sun on my face, the wind too, specifically on long, leisurely, and repeated glides down a Rocky Mountain. I needed a condo-to-chairlift morning commute, an après-ski beer outside in the sun, comfort food served at a mountain village restaurant, and a cozy condo in which to fall immediately asleep each night. I would even take a day of altitude sickness and the ankle bruises that come with three full days in ski boots in exchange for the joy of the sport.

In the winter of 1993 my Sundays were spent with my mom. We would wake up, go to church, and then out to breakfast.  (I’m pretty sure I ordered a cinnamon roll every time.) The other half of my family — my dad and younger brother and sister — spent these days at southeast Michigan’s biggest man-made ski hill, Mt. Brighton. As a timid kid I chose to be left out of their adventures, plus I probably enjoyed the quiet afternoons with my current stack of library books.

They would return home just before dinner, excited and telling stories about ski school, the chairlift, hot chocolate, and just how much gosh darn fun they had. Someone would be singing Garth Brooks, which seemed to be the unofficial soundtrack for the commute. I would be laying on the couch wearing my favorite teddy bear sweatshirt, a headband pulling back my messy hair, finishing up a chapter of The Baby-Sitter’s Club. Slowly over the season, as their stories became more exuberant, it began to occur to me: maybe I’m missing out.

On opening day the following season I gathered my purple and teal snowsuit and headed out to my dad’s red Aerostar, where The Thunder Rolls was already playing. There was a quiet excitement on the drive to the ski slopes, interrupted by singalongs to Friends in Low Places. When we arrived, my siblings — old pros — gathered their gear out of the trunk and took off for the hills, while my dad waited through the equipment rental line and gave me a tutorial on buckling ski boots. The start of the day — bundled up, attaching the equipment, slogging across flat snow to the base, sweating through the many layers — was not fun. I remember the jerk of the tow rope and my dad’s final, top-of-the-hill lesson to shape my skis like a piece of pizza, and I knew I just had to go for it. I teetered over the edge and then flew straight to the bottom and fell down.

Ok, not bad, I thought. I had zero control and landed upside down, but it brought a rush and I certainly didn’t die, so… I went back up the hill and did it again: straight down, but this time without a fall. On the third try I successfully made a turn, and within an hour I was an expert on the bunny hill.

Within a year we were planning our first family trip out west, to Steamboat Springs, Colorado, and the original source of this January’s nostalgia for a Rocky Mountain ski trip. After several emails, a phone call, and my 36th birthday party spent on Delta and Vrbo’s websites, it was official: my dad and I were heading west!

And so two months ago we were sitting at a sushi bar in Beaver Creek, Colorado. It was the end of our second full day of skiing, and as we contemplated the menu we got to chatting about our favorite cocktails. I was enjoying the house mai tai, which reminded me of my honeymoon habit of a daily mai tai with lunch. My dad talked about his recent interest in any bourbon-based drink. We both agreed that a negroni frequently hits the spot.

A classic negroni is equal parts campari, gin, and sweet vermouth, usually with an orange twist. Since our trip I’ve been making a version at home, substituting campari for aperol, and upping the citrus. Aside from the fact that I have aperol on hand, I like that it is slightly less alcoholic and less bitter than campari. The additional citrus adds to the palate as well; I first used grapefruit, but freshly squeezed orange juice changed my mind. It’s a “Negroni Light,” which I now call Jess’s Negroni.

JESS’S NEGRONI

You’ll need:
Juice of 1 orange citrus (such as a cara cara orange, blood orange, tangerine, etc.)
1.5 ounces gin (1 shot glass)*
1.5 ounces aperol (1 shot glass)*
1.5 ounces sweet vermouth (1 shot glass)*

Add all ingredients to a cocktail shaker with ice. Cover and shake for 20-30 seconds. Strain into a cocktail glass with ice. Garnish with the peel of the orange (optional).

*Shot glasses can vary in size. This is the size I use (and have used since college) to measure liquor.